Skin Flick
Ray crouched between the rows, heart beating too fast, legs beginning to cramp.  Damn it, why did things like this always happen to him? Ray knew the reason, even as he asked himself the question.

The *Mountie*.

It was always Benton Fraser's fault.  The man who was always out to help the little person, the underdog, always willing to lend a helping hand - if that meant lending Ray's hand as well... so be it.  Just a minute of your time Ray, said the Mountie.  Ray, I don't think you should bring a loaded gun into the shelter, he'd suggested in that Canadian-polite tone.  Really, Ray, you can live without your phone for one hour, the ringing is so distracting.  What could possibly happen while serving dinner at a shelter?

Which explained why he was here, hiding on the floor of a porn theater, with no ammo, no cell phone, no back-up. The detective sighed his disgust and peeked over the chairs.  There. Just coming through the doors were Volpe's goons.  He watched them searching the dark, looking at the customers spaced sporadically about the theater, trying to find the two dark shadows who had just witnessed a major drug deal.  I don't know what's worse, them not knowing we're cops or what might happen if they find out.

Now, where the hell did Fraser go?  Ray turned towards the screen and saw the Mountie, three rows from the front, sitting stiffly upright, determinedly *not* watching the start of the movie.   Jesus H. Christ! As soon as they see him, they'll know he doesn't belong.  Who else would come to a gay porn theater and then stare at a blank wall?  At least, Ray thought with a small sense of relief, he wasn't wearing the hat.

The detective took another quick look at their pursuers and saw that they were starting to work their way down the rows, pausing briefly behind each patron. Shit. Shit. Shit.  He'd give them 10 minutes max before they found Fraser - less for them to find him, crouched between two rows.  Think, think, think! his brain chanted.

A shout made him chance another look over the chairs.  Both of the goons were arguing with some yutz in a raincoat.  Ray thought one of them might have been propositioned.  He smiled and held back a laugh. Serves the assholes right. Taking advantage of the distraction, he crawled into the aisle, slithering down to Fraser's row.  Ignoring the stench rising up from the floor and the sticky cling of unknown things on his gloves, he moved down the chairs until he was next to Fraser.


"Yes, Ray.  I see you."  Fraser spoke out of the corner of his mouth.

"What the hell do you think you're doing there, Benton-buddy?" Ray spoke in a loud whisper, trying to be heard over the cheesy soundtrack.  Steadying himself with a hand to Fraser's knee, he looked at the eerie flickering of lights across the stoic face above him.

"Well, Ray, I thought that if I simply sat down they would assume I was a patron and ignore me."

Ray couldn't believe his ears.  "Fraze, wake up and smell the sodomy. You do not even remotely resemble a patron of this hell hole.  Have you even *looked* at the screen?"

Fraser finally looked down at him.  "Yes.  Yes, I did, Ray, and I don't believe that that man is really a police officer.  Now, while I'm not familiar with all of your law enforcement agencies, his uniform doesn't seem to be regulation.  To be honest, I don't think I've ever seen patent leather hip boots on...."

"Fraser."  Nobody could be this innocent.

"Yes, Ray?"

"It's a skin flick - they don't have costume designers," he shuddered as the well-worn film skipped a few frames and the soundtrack quavered, "or musical scores.  Or even plots, for that matter.  They have men who fuck each other."  He ignored Fraser's small gasp and continued, "Where the hell are those goons?"

Fraser gave a slightly shaky, but natural-looking stretch and looked over his shoulder.

"Approximately fifteen rows back."

"Shit."  Think, Kowalski, think.  He couldn't yank Fraser down on the floor, they'd notice. He certainly didn't want to be found here, either. Shot down in a porn theater was not one of his life goals.  Although, he thought perversely, everyone would think it was Ray Vecchio and that made him smirk.

"Ray, what do you want me to do?" The question broke his reverie and he put his mind back to the problem at hand.  What the hell would convince them that Fraser belonged here.  Better yet, what would convince them that they didn't *want* to investigate Fraser.   Thinking of the goon's reaction earlier, he had an idea.

"Take off your coat."

Fraser immediately shrugged off his leather jacket, without question, and held it rather questioningly.

"Spread your legs."  Fraser complied and Ray shifted to kneel between the hard muscled thighs, elbows on either knee.  Trying to ignore the stickiness of the floor under his knees, he removed his filthy gloves, interlocked his fingers and rested his chin on them.

Fraser looked down at him briefly and then made a quiet noise of understanding, before spreading the jacket out and draping it over Ray.

The warm coat covered his head and back, and Ray was in total blackness.  Breathing in the scent of leather and Mountie, he had to shuffle a bit, making room for his awakening erection.  Hopefully, Fraser's legs and the darkness would hide most of him, making them believe Fraser was simply covering his dick while he watched the show.  If it also allowed a little harmless fantasizing about his partner on his part, who could it hurt?  Granted, the first part would only work if the Mountie would watch the damn show.  Ray lifted the collar slightly and spoke through the gap.

"Now, moan."

"Pardon me?"  So much for doing what he was told without question.

"Moan.  Like you're having a good time. And for Pete's sake, at least *look* at the screen."

"Certainly. I... Oh, dear."

Ray could hear the muffled sound from the film through the coat and recognized the meaty thuds of someone being fucked.  Loudly. Messily.  Thoroughly.

"I... I... Ray... Oh...."  Ray could feel Fraser's body tense and his thigh muscles lock in preparation of flight.  Ray made a quick grab at the jeans in front of him, tucking his fingers down the waistband and holding on, trying to keep the struggling figure still.

"Fraser.  Benton.  Relax, *now*."  Fraser continued to struggle upwards until Ray simply bit the hard muscled thigh next to him to gain his attention.  "Stop it!"

Fraser froze.  "Ray?"

He took a deep breath and let it out, trying to remain calm.  "Fraser, where are they?"

"Twelve rows."  Ray could hear the trembling in the voice above his head.

"It's okay, you can do this."

"But, they're... I can't..."

"Yes.  You can.  Calm down.  It's just some guys, doing what it is some guys do.  Okay?"

"You've..."  Ray heard the question that his best friend couldn't bring himself to ask.   This wasn't how he had wanted to broach the subject, but what the hell.   The cat's out of the bag.

"Yeah, Frase, I have.  So just relax, it'll be fine."  He tentatively moved the hand still clutched in Fraser's waistband, rubbing the taut stomach muscles with the back of his fingers, trying to soothe him. He worried briefly for a moment that Fraser would bolt again, but then the clenched thighs on either side of him relaxed slightly and he could feel the rest of body above him slowly unwind.  "Good."  He kept the gentle motion of his hand going and tried to keep his voice low and
calm.  "Now, Benton, I want you to put your hands under here with me, like you're showing yourself a good time.  Watch the screen, give a few moans, a couple of grunts, and send the nice men on their way. Got it?  Come on buddy, pitter-patter."

Several seconds crept by and finally Fraser's hands crept under the edge of the jacket, nervously clutching at his own thighs. Ray barely heard the whispered reply. "I don't think... I mean... I've never..."

"You don't have to actually do it Fraser.  Pretend."  Ray was getting annoyed.  Christ, Fraser acted like he'd never jerked off before.  Here was a perfectly good plan, no, it was a *great* plan, and the Mountie refused to play his part.  "Give me your hands and I'll show you how." He ran his hands up the thighs and tried to grasp the suddenly skittish hands that refused to be held.  "Damn it, Fraser, hold still."

"No. I can't..."

Ray couldn't believe it.  "'I can't' is not an option here, Fraze.'  Now he was angry; their lives were on the line.  "We are *not*  gonna buy it in this theater.   Do you understand me?..."


"...Cause the last thing that I hear is *not* going to be this music; the last thing I see is *not* going to be Officer Rockhard and the rest of the 'Police Acockamy'."  His voice was getting louder and he somehow didn't care.  "And above all, Fraser, I am definitely not going to my great reward stuck to this floor, covered in some other man's *spunk*..."


"...Do you know what that'll do to my karma??  I won't-"

Ray's face was suddenly pressed up against Fraser's crotch, open mouth full of denim, the hands holding him there firm.

"Ray.  You've got to be quiet."

Ray nodded his surprised agreement, inappropriately pleased to be firmly snuggled so closely to the object of his desire.  He could feel the hot press of Fraser under his cheek and the heavy scent of him filling his nose.  Mountie fingers held his head gently.  Above him Fraser has started to chant quietly under his breath.  "*I* am a Mountie.  I *am* a Mountie.  I. Am. A. Mountie.  A Mountie.  I... Oh..."

Ray could tell when Fraser moved his eyes to the screen by the sudden quiver in the belly beneath his hand and forehead.   Several seconds later, Ray felt an unexpected answering shudder in the mound in front of him; the sudden heat seeming to burn his skin.  Unable to help himself, unwilling to stop himself, he pressed himself closer.  He was already gonna burn for bigger things that copping a feel, so what the hell?  Besides, he reasoned, as he pushed a bit more, maybe he could
just *help* the Mountie along his way to pretending.  Just to save lives.

Yeah, right.

He pressed a quick kiss to the covered erection anyway and waited. Nothing happened.  Not believing that his indiscretion hadn't been noted, but hey, he didn't want to kick a gift horse in the head, Ray started to pull away.  Too bad the hands holding him captive didn't relent.  After one terrifyingly long moment, they pulled him closer, and he heard his name.  Soft and breathy and just how he had long imagined it might be.

Ray let out the breath he was unconsciously holding and smiled, rather foolishly, at the heady rush that made his world spin.   Fraser had said *his* name, in a very non-mountie voice.  This was it.  His reward for being a decent cop, a fairly good human being, and above all, for being insane enough to love the most freakish man in the world.  Life was good.  Hell, life was *great*.  No place on earth that he would rather be right now; sitting here on the floor, head being cradled delicately, tucked tidily between blocky thighs, listening to the best music in the world.  Heaven.  It just didn't get better than this.

Unless, of course, those hands moved, and started exploring his face, like it was a precious thing that should be treated as such.  When fingers caressed his brow, the arch of his nose, and finally brushed against his lips - BANG!  The universe expanded and life became a miracle.

His lips felt dry against the butterfly light touches and he licked them, brushing his tongue against a thumb.  It pushed slightly and he drew it in, nibbling at the pad, licking the salt heavy taste away.  He proceeded to lave each finger, worship each knuckle, breathe tiny prayers against the palms, until they moved away.  He whimpered his loss, but they were only returning to his hair, caressing the strands, soothing his excitement.

Ray was aware of the hard throb under the fingertips, still tucked into Fraser's pants.  Slowly, carefully, he ran his free hand over the hot length, and undid the button at the top of the jeans.   After a moments hesitation he slid the zipper down and spread the sides, ready to retreat at the first sign of distress.  When nothing came but the slight flex of fingers in his hair, he pushed down the boxers, letting the elastic waistband trap his prize under the slick head.  Good, but not good enough.  He wanted, craved, needed to have more but didn't want to break this fragile spell.  A few inches would make him happy. Hell, give him a little party hat and he'd dance a merry little jig to his extraordinary good luck.

Pushing up Fraser's shirt, he ran a light hand over the hard abdomen. The skin was hot and tight beneath his hand as he brushed his fingertips teasingly over the slick, leaking head pushed against the belly. A few more touches and his thumb was wet enough to slide easily over and around the dimpled belly-button.

He felt Fraser's groan vibrate through him and the hard, rough fingers tightened, kneading him like a cat.  Tugging at the briefs with one hand, he cupped his hand around Fraser's cock, learning the shape and size like Braille.  He pulled again at the white cotton until it was bunched beneath the heavy sac below his fist, pushing it forward, offering it to his wandering fingers.

A hitch in the chest above him and Ray couldn't draw it out, couldn't wait that extra minute.  He wanted his prize now.  Opening his mouth, he slid it lovingly over the plumed head, welcoming the tight stretch of his lips that the awkward position offered him.  Letting his fingers drift up and down the shaft, rolling the weight beneath his chin between his fingertips, he let his tongue worship every hard inch.

Nothing existed except the thick scent of Fraser, mingling with the warm leather around him, the subtle shifting of hips that thrust the cock deeper into his mouth. The tang of precum, bitter and sweet and sticky filled his mouth.  He could feel the tightness of Fraser's body, imagined his partner him throwing back his head, the long masculine line of his neck.  God, he was so close, without even touching himself.

Suddenly the coat was gone and he was exposed, blinking in the harsh light of the screen.  Looking up in panic and feeling a heavy sweet weight fill his chest and discovering that he didn't care.  He trusted Fraser with his life and knew that the other man would never reveal them to danger.  The thought only took a split second to flash across his mind before he caught himself in the vision before him.  It was better than his imagination had ever been able to create.

Dark head bent towards him, temples damp and a slow trickle of sweat dripping down that perfect cheek.  Those innocent blue eyes, rimmed in black, watching him as he throated Fraser's cock.  The clench of teeth in that fat lower lip as he swirled his tongue around the base; clutching the hard, thick thighs in front of him as they thrust and finally, he heard his name again, in a throaty, low groan and he was gone.  His own hips jerked and the fingers in his hair tightened as his mouth filled and he swallowed, demanding more and more just to hear his name pass those lips again and again.

Ray rubbed his damp cheek against the leg next to him, nuzzling the rough fabric.  He could sense the changing lights of the movie on his closed lids and listened to the stilted dialogue above him, brows creasing briefly.  The Right to Remain Handcuffed?  What the hell? A calloused finger smoothed out the crinkle in his forehead.

"Ray."  His name so thick and full of emotion.  "Ray."  Better than he imagined.  Better than it had been seconds before.  "Ray." The stroking fingers moved, thumbs wiping away the sweat on his face, cupping his cheeks, rubbing his lips softly.  Better still.  Tell me that you love me.  "They're gone.  We need to go."

"Oh, yeah, I love-  What?"  What in the hell was he talking about. This was not part of his post orgasm dream.  There was much more of his name and maybe a little cuddling.  There wasn't any talk about leaving.  "Why? If they're gone, it don't matter." he offered inanely, trying to get back to his pre-formulated fantasy.  "Are we still gonna die?"  Cause it would be okay to go to kick the bucket now.  Spunk or not.

A quiet chuckle answered him.  Not a Mountie noise, but a deep, throaty laugh, reserved for lovers on rainy mornings, when you're buried in your cozy bed.  It was a good noise for Fraser to make.  "I don't think so, one of the other patrons complained and they were escorted out.  Although I wouldn't normally leave the scene of a crime, I don't think that we should stay and wait for the police to arrive..."

"Hmmm-hmmm."  The Right to Remain Handcuffed *and* the Right to be Fucked?    Who wrote this crap?

"Ray.  We need to go.  Now."   The Mountie voice was back, polite but distant, and the comfortable hands changed into RCMP issue. Hands that tidied up jeans and shirt, hands that neatly cupped his elbows and help him rise.

Ray struggled to his feet, feeling crushed and rather foolish for his fantasies.  Of course, we have to go.  I just molested my best friend in a porn theater, under the guise of help.  Granted, it had helped, but still... "You're right.  I'll drop you off at the Consulate and go back to the station and file a report."  Shoot myself in the head and hide my own body.  Stupid, stupid, stupid.   He was achingly aware of the wet spot on the front of his jeans and his messy damp hair.   "Shit.  I gotta go home and change first."  He turned and stomped towards the emergency exit next to the screen, not caring if the other man followed.

Ray tugged on the door's release bar and Fraser's arm came over his shoulder, palm slamming the metal door shut.   The cop yanked ineffectively for a moment and then stood quietly, head down.

"Ray.  I was wondering..."

"Yeah?"  Beaten.

There was a gentle touch on his chin. "I'm unfamiliar with the Miranda Rights being used in this nude-reel."


"Skin-flick.  Yes, skin-flick.  Anyway, I was hoping you might teach them to me."

Of course.  Benton Fraser, needed to be the knower of all things, even dirty movie plotlines.  He sighed.  "Fraser, there is no such...."  He paused.  The Right to Remain Handcuffed.  The Right be Fucked. The Right to Beg.  "I don't have the boots," he offered cautiously.

"Well, that's just silly, Ray," Fraser responded in that melting voice. Ray looked at the open face before him, and watched the soft eyes become aloof and the gentle smile disappear.  This time, he was prepared for the firm Mountie tone. "You'll only need the handcuffs."

There was a quick press of a hot mouth against his own gaping one and the arm bracing the door was gone. Things were definitely looking up.  Ray grinned, slapped his partner on the shoulder and opened the door.  "Oh, Fraze?"

"Yes, Ray?" Fraser turned and gave him that blinding smile when he saw the handcuffs swinging gently from Ray's finger.

"You're under arrest."

[anagi home]     [anagi mail]    
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Alliance and the author makes no claims upon them - no copyright infrigement is intended. This story is for entertainment purposes only and there is no monetary gain.